Enemies With Benefits
by Drusilla Maxima
Summary: Hermione Granger thought it would be a one night stand. Then a two night stand. But try as she might, she could not break off her addiction to Draco Malfoy. Nor could he. But how long could they hide their illicit affair? (adult content, practically PWP)
1. Chapter 1: Percy's Office

**Author's Note and Warning: This story is virtually all smut. Please click "back" if you find filthy stories disturbing, or if you're under 18. Otherwise, read on with the fair warning that the story is plot-light and smut-heavy. Moreover, the story contains pointless swearing and alcohol consumption. Enjoy!  
**

* * *

Ron cried. His whole body shook; he huddled on the edge of their corduroy sofa. He lifted one arm and wiped his dripping nose with the arm of his Chudley Cannons jumper. Hermione stood in front of him, her arms crossed over her chest, waiting for whatever whatever he wanted to admit. The news had to be important - and unpleasant - as he'd told her to leave work early.

"What is it?" Hermione demanded after a five-minute silence, punctuated only by Ron's sobs.

Ron sniffled. "I'm so sorry, 'Mione."

She'd always hated that nickname; it was too cutesy, too childish. Only Ron used it, and only when he'd been drinking or when he bollocksed up. But Ron had never been _this _upset, and a thread of worry wound through Hermione's abdomen. At first, she thought he'd done something stupid, but ultimately forgivable - quit his job with the Cannons, or forgotten to file his tax returns, or got caught flying his broomstick while drunk.

Now, she suspected it was far worse.

"I'm just so sorry, I didn't mean for it to get this bad..."

"Just tell me!" she snapped.

"Well... I... I got drunk after that big game in Belfast last month... "

Hermione rolled her eyes and stopped pacing for a moment. "You get drunk after every game, Ron."

"Yeah, but I got really drunk at that one. I had really, really bad judgment."

"Because you were angry that Harry and I were at that Muggle conference together," Hermione muttered. "I remember. You know that Harry and I are like brother and sister. Your jealousy's gotten ridiculous lately. But I told you I forgave you and I meant it."

"I know, I know, but... me getting angry wasn't everything." His voice was a trembled whisper now. "I fucked up so badly."

She stared him down in silence, and he shot her a pleading look.

"Lavender just happened to be there, 'Mione. Her brother plays for Belfast..."

Hermione's stomach flipped. She had a nauseating suspicion where this conversation was headed. Her eyes fluttered closed as Ron finished the sentence.

"We slept together." His voice seemed to echo with its finality; after a pause, he began to babble. "I was so stupid, Hermione. I felt jealous of you and Harry, I was lonely, and I was drunk, and I'd just lost the game, and me and Lavender were at Temple Bar reminiscing about old times at school..."

Hermione's head pounded, and she could barely think. Ron and Lavender. Again. It was a horrible redux of sixth year; long-suppressed feelings of uncertainty and ugliness came roaring back to life.

But, given Ron's impulsivity after the war, and how tough he'd taken his brother's death, she at least could fractionally understand. Perhaps, with time, they could get over this. They could do couples counseling - after all, they were engaged, and their wedding was already scheduled for December, and they were in love...

"Hermione, she's pregnant."

It took her mind a moment to process what he'd just said. Hermione felt like she'd been kicked in the gut. It was over. In that one, crashing moment, all of her dreams of red-headed children, a house in London, and growing old with Ron - it was all crushed.

He looked up at her with watery eyes. "Hermione, are you all right? You're just staring at me."

"Ron," she whispered. "Get out."

* * *

Draco Malfoy stared down at the parchment from his so-called fiancee.

_Dear Mr. Malfoy, _

_It is with regret that I cease further nuptial negotiations with your family. I have returned all jewellery you have given me as gifts in the past six months; you shall find all pieces and a written inventory in your Gringott's account. _

_Yours truly,_

_Miss Astoria C. L. Greengrass_

She hadn't even the fortitude to give him a _reason_. Through his sources, he learned that Astoria had been secretly negotiating with Zabini's family for the past month. It seemed that Zabini's name didn't carry the taint that _Malfoy_ did. After all, Draco's father had just been sent to Azkaban, and Draco's mother was from a family of known psychotics. And in this new world of Muggle acceptance, Astoria thought that the Malfoy family had left their golden years behind.

It was galling.

Draco wondered if Astoria knew that Blaise was a poofter; though being a poofter certainly wasn't a dealbreaker for pureblood marriage negotiations. Hell, Draco had often wondered if his Aunt Bellatrix swung toward women; she hadn't liked Uncle Rodolphus much, and seemed to have a sick interest in Granger.

A soft voice interrupted his ruminations. "Hey, mate."

He looked up to see Percy Weasley standing in the doorway to his cubicle. Weasley was a sycophant, and not a very good one, but Draco had built up an odd and unexpected - well, friendship, he supposed - with Percy. Both worked in the Magical Policy Division, Percy as a first-class adviser, Malfoy as an intern.

Not that Malfoy particularly wanted to be a lackey for the Ministry, but he'd been "strongly encouraged" to do so in order to have all charges dropped against him. And while he hated work, he secretly admitted Percy had been undeservedly tolerable to him.

"You all right, Malfoy?" Percy asked.

Malfoy knew he must look like shite, if _Percy _had noticed.

"I'm fine."

"You don't look fine." Percy glanced down at the parchment. "It's not as if I'm a gossip, if you want to sound off a bit."

Malfoy sighed. "Astoria Greengrass just dumped me for Zabini."

Percy gawked at him. "But I thought Zabini liked men."

"Oh, he does. But he's rich, and apparently his family's reputation is on the upswing, unlike mine. So I suppose that outweighs the fact that he'll find Astoria as sexually interesting as a doorknob." Malfoy pursed his lips. "At this rate, I'll only be able to contract marriage with one of the heftier Bulstrode girls."

He quickly stuffed the letter in his pocket and began to clear away his workspace. Percy watched him for a moment, as if toying with an idea.

"Malfoy."

"Hmm?"

"There's a ministry event tonight. All the managers have been invited - it's a commemorative event for the Knight Bus disaster last year."

"That's nice." Malfoy frowned, making it clear that he didn't find it _nice_ at all.

"Watch your tone, Malfoy. I'm about to send you in my place, if you want to go. I know Goyle might be there, and there's an open bar." He paused. "I'm supposed to sit at Shacklebolt's table."

Draco caught the subtext - that he could probably talk up the Minister and make a good impression, and at worst, he could get totally blitzed with his friend on the Ministry dime.

"Why don't you want to go, Weasley?"

"To be honest, I don't care about the death of seven purebloods who were drunk on a bus and died because they set off fireworks inside." He frowned in disapproval. "Besides, I'm supposed to see a show with Audrey. It might be useful for you, Malfoy, to be on your best behaviour..."

"Fine. All right." Draco sighed, cutting off Percy's inevitable lecture. "And, yes, Weasley, I promise to behave myself. No comments about blood purity or my role in the war. I'll just compliment you and the Minister all night."

Percy seemed satisfied at that, nodded, and headed out the door. "Seven o' clock, at the main floor reception hall."

* * *

Malfoy wasn't seated with Kingsley Shacklebolt. It seemed the Minister hadn't wanted to attend the event, either. He'd sent Hermione Granger, Manager of Magical Creatures Division, in his stead.

And Draco knew something was off, because Granger barely looked his way when he arrived and seated himself next to her. She hadn't even mustered up a comment about ferrets.

Watching her for a moment, it became eminently clear who had distracted Granger - she kept shooting frosty glares over at Lavender Brown's table. He idly wondered why Brown was here - she was a hairdresser, not a Ministry employee - then recalled that Brown's uncle had been one of the inbred halfwits who'd offed themselves on the Knight Bus.

Malfoy had not been sorted into Slytherin for nothing, and he noticed several small details about the two young women that most would have missed.

Brown looked terrified of Granger. As the salad course arrived, Brown removed a phial of blue potion - from the colour, either nausea suppressant or foot-growth potion, and he figured the first was the more likely option - and downed it, then glanced guiltily back at Granger. Most interestingly, Brown drank only herbal tea, despite her reputation as a borderline alcoholic.

Granger, on the other hand, was knocking back white wine like water. She'd drained one generous glass, and had gestured to a house-elf to bring another. And, as she brought the glass to her lips, Malfoy noticed something else - Granger's engagement ring, a tacky concoction of pink opals and gold that had been splashed across every magazine when she'd gotten engaged, was conspicuously absent from her hand.

His suspicions were almost unbelievably juicy. Surely the Weasel wouldn't be _that_ stupid? Surely he wouldn't knock up some low-class, mediocre-looking hairdresser when he had Wizarding Britain's Sweetheart as his fiancee?

Surely not.

But as he watched Granger grow a bit more tipsy, watched as her self-control lowered and unbridled rage was reflected in her stare, he knew he was onto something. Something he might use to his advantage.

"Granger."

Her head snapped toward him. "What, Malfoy?"

He nearly flinched at the anger in her voice. He'd never heard Granger so hateful, not even when she was calling him an brain-dead ferret back at school.

"If you keep staring at Brown like that," he whispered so only they could hear, "everyone will know about your little issue by the end of the night. Or, at least, will be suspicious."

There, that was vague enough to confirm his suspicions without committing to any firm knowledge. Granger's horrified expression told him everything he needed to know.

"How do you know? She only found out four days ago, and only told Ron!" Hermione gaped. "Does everyone..."

"Obviously not. If they did you'd be getting pitying glances and Brown would have to hole herself up somewhere to avoid the pro-Granger hordes." He paused. "I'm simply observant."

"So what, are you going to blackmail me now?" she snapped.

He'd considered it. Granger was smart enough to recognize the risk of blackmail. But manipulation came more naturally for him, and he was already two steps ahead.

"What would be the benefit in me blackmailing you with Brown's indelicate behaviour?" he asked. "Soon enough, this will all come out. And when it does, you'll be the victim. You'll be the pretty, young war hero, wronged by some sluttish nobody and Weasley's wandering eye. He can't very well lie about his cheating ways, since he was still talking about your impending nuptials as recently as Monday. No, Granger, it's much better for me to stay on your good side."

"At least your priorities are still in order," she muttered. "The universe hasn't gone totally haywire as long as the Malfoys are trying to come out on top."

She stared down at her plate and poked at some overcooked string beans. Her eyes flickered to the clock on the wall. And Draco realized that Granger was just as bored at this thing as he was. She watched him without comment as he knocked back a shot of whiskey in one go, then ordered a double.

"Are you even a Ministry employee, Malfoy?" she asked after a moment.

"I am. I'm Percy Weasley's intern, and have been for the past year," he muttered, "I thought everyone knew about that shithole my probation officer stuck me in. Wasn't it enough to put magical restrictions on my wand?"

She laughed at that, loudly enough that their table-mates looked her way with open curiosity.

"Magical Policy with Perce." She lifted her glass to her lips. "I never thought I'd meet someone with a job that's more shite than mine, but congrats, Malfoy, you win. I suppose it had to happen once in your life."

"It's not that bad," he muttered, "at least, Percy's not that bad. A bit of an idiot, but... the work itself is horrible." He lifted his glass. "At least we get some alcohol on the Ministry's purse."

In an odd moment of cameraderie, she lifted her own glass and gave him a small nod. Draco downed his double shot of whiskey, and Hermione drained her glass. A house elf brought two more; Draco and Hermione stared at one another for a moment before silently competing by draining them again. The house elf filled the glasses again, and Draco's head started to become fuzzy as he drained yet another glass, and his boredom began to slip away...

...Hermione glanced up at the clock.

"My God, Malfoy," she said, over-enunciating her words, "It's nine fifty! Nearly everyone's gone."

Malfoy shrugged. "Whatever, Granger. I was just trying to drink the maximum possible free booze, but now they've closed the bar."

"Well, I suppose that's it, then, I'd better go home." She stood up unsteadily. "You know, thanks for being nice to me tonight. Your conversation's not half-bad when you lay off the mudblood stuff."

"I'll take that as a compliment, Granger." He paused, wondering if Sober Malfoy would regret what he was about to do. "You want to go up to my office? I bet you've never been in the policy division. And Weasley keeps a bottle of scotch in his desk that we can nip into."

"That's theft, Malfoy!"

"Borrowing," he said matter-of-factly. "I need it. Weasley'll understand."

She shot him a disbelieving look.

"Really," he said. "Weasley knows what shite I've been through lately."

"Really? I suppose... all right then."

Which was how the two of them ended up sitting in Percy Weasley's office, sharing a cone-shaped paper water cup filled to the brim with Glenfiddich. Hermione sat on the edge of the desk, swinging her legs back and forth; Malfoy sat in the desk chair directly in front of her. She wasn't afraid of him, that was obvious; and she actually seemed rather relaxed. Malfoy wondered, raking his eyes across her small waist and long legs, when she'd become so pretty.

"So why'd you need to get drunk?" she asked. "You said you needed this."

And suddenly, that relaxed moment vanished. Malfoy scowled into the cup, and when he looked up, he caught a flash of apologetic embarrassment flicker in her brown eyes. Granger always was pretty tactless, he remembered. He briefly considered lying to spare his pride, then thought better of it. What did he lose to tell the truth? In fact, Granger might even feel a bit of sympathy at his plight.

"My fiancee dumped me for a gay man."

She stared at him a moment, then began to laugh. He tried not to let his embarrassment show, and eventually she quieted.

"You're joking, right?"

He tossed her the letter from Astoria, and after she skimmed it, she dissolved once again into peals of laughter.

"I'm sorry, Malfoy, but anyone who takes one look at Zabini knows he's queerer than a two-headed nail." She handed back the page. "For God's sake, he teaches zumba for a living."

"I know that, Granger. Everyone knows that."

She shrugged. "Maybe she's asexual and she's actually spared you a passionless marriage."

"Somehow, I suspect her passion is fired more by money than anything else." He scowled and banished the letter. "I got dumped by Pansy too. She got knocked up by some stupid rich German who owns a mountain. He had to marry her after that."

She smiled for a moment before realizing the parallels to Lavender Brown and Ron.

"Just like Weasley's dumb bint. All you women are the same," Malfoy continued bitterly. "Money and status. That's all that matters."

"Pureblood women," Hermione said matter-of-factly, "are raised to value those things. Not muggle women. Not to mention, you're generalizing fifty percent of the population."

He rolled his eyes.

"No, really, Malfoy. I've never dated for money or status..."

"That much is obvious. Krum? He couldn't mumble out a word of recognizable English. Weasley? I don't even have to comment, he speaks for himself."

Hermione protested, "Ron's not such a bad guy..."

"Ronald Weasley is a man-child, without a sense of responsibility or conviction." Malfoy paused. "Much as it pains me to admit it, he's your inferior."

"He's a pureblood," Hermione said slowly, intently watching Malfoy's face. "And I, as you've reminded me a thousand times, am not."

"He's your inferior." Malfoy repeated, taking a swig of whiskey, then throwing up one frustrated hand at Hermione's puzzlement. "For fuck's sake, Granger, nobody was quite sure what you saw in him. He's not as intelligent as you. He's not personable. He's not ambitious. He's not on par with you in the looks department, so what is it?"

Her face flamed. Had Malfoy really just complimented her intelligence and looks?

"Oh, stop looking at me like you've seen a three headed troll," he snapped. "The alcohol's doing the talking."

She ignored that, and hesitantly answered his question. "What was it about Ron? He's sweet and easy to understand. I suppose nobody else really ever had much interest, and he really is my friend even if he can be a bit dim and impulsive..."

He snorted. "Weasley had plenty of competition. There were several boys who desperately wanted in your knickers at Hogwarts. Don't give me that look, it's true."

She rolled her eyes. "Name one. And not Goldstein, he wanted in every girl's knickers."

She shot him a mischievous smile. But, as his eyes darkened and his brows drew together, her grin vanished. His expression became hard. She recognized it as the same intensely resolute expression he got before a Quidditch game. Perhaps her ribbing had gone too far; been too familiar for someone she barely knew. Had assumed - wrongly - that he'd changed.

As he moved, she realized she'd misinterpreted his expression as menacing.

He reached out and settled one hand on her hip, gently, lightly, and she recognized that he was giving her the opportunity to flee. Her heartbeat thudded in her chest, but the only reaction she could manage under his hard gaze was to lick her lips. His other hand settled on the other hip. After a pause, he tightened his grip and pulled her toward him. It was an unspoken command for her to slide forward and onto his lap. She hesitated.

"Live a little. Come on, Granger." He paused. "Hermione."

"Only if you promise you're not going to sober up and start shouting 'mudblood' at me."

He chuckled throatily. "If I do, consider it a cover for the fact that I've wanted to shag you for years."

That convinced her, and she threw caution to the wind. It was Malfoy, but it was also a Malfoy who was complimentary, drunk, and bizarrely honest. And pretty _fit_.

She slid into his lap, facing him in the desk chair. He snaked one arm around her waist to keep her from sliding off; she was precariously perched on top of his thighs. His other hand slid up her spine and to the nape of her neck. He pushed her head closer to his. His eyes fluttered closed, and hers did the same.

His lips met hers. He knew what he was doing, and took control of the kiss; his fingers laced through her hair, gently stroking that sensitive bit of skin beneath her ear. His lips parted, and before she had the time to think it through, his tongue was inside her mouth. He tasted of whiskey and butterscotch candy. She responded in kind, her lips caressing his. As she did, she felt him harden against her thigh.

When his hand slid down from her neck and rested on her breast, she didn't protest. His thumb searched for her nipple, and when he couldn't find it, he muttered, "Fuck, what are you wearing under this blouse?"

"Hmm," she said, feeling incredibly un-virtuous, "there's nothing stopping you from finding out."

The momentary look that flashed across his face was priceless - a mixture of gawping and thankfulness. And then excited fingers were at her buttons, fumbling as he tried to undo them. After a moment, he swore and decided just to yank the two sides apart. Round pearls rained down onto the tile flooring. The silky blouse fell open, revealing her black lace brassiere. His eyes stayed locked on it for a moment. Experimentally, she wriggled a bit on his lap, in turn, rubbing her thigh against his protruding hardness.

"Granger, I hope you're not a tease," he mumbled, "you're as sexy as I imagined you'd be. Better... I'm going to laugh my arse off next time someone calls you a prude, or a bookworm..."

She cut him off with another kiss. His hand pushed up her bra, and she felt his thumb rub the very peak of her nipple. Growing more confident, he pinched it, and she let out a moan. Her hand reached down and rubbed between his legs, and she cupped his sac through his wool trousers.

"Granger..."

"Mmm, Malfoy?"

"Am I getting shagged tonight?"

Her snort turned into a gasp as his mouth latched onto her throat's pulse point. "I... ah... should think that was rather obvious."

With that, he was a flurry of movement. He lifted her off his lap, stood, and shoved her back onto the desk. She let out a startled squeak. His hands shaky with uncoordinated hurry, he reached for his fly and, after some effort, freed himself. His trousers dropped to the ground, and she could see the outline of his cock straining within his briefs.

She knew this would be no slow and romantic coupling. No, this was fucking, alcohol-fuelled and urgent. He grabbed her skirt and pushed it up to her waist. He paused at the sight of her fluorescent pink thong, and ran one finger over the cotton. The feel of his hand through the fabric sent a jolt through her, and she whimpered.

He said nothing, but smirked as he felt the damp spot. With one hand, he yanked the thong down to hang halfway down her legs. His hands clamped around her thighs, pulling her forward so that she lay on the desk, and he stood at the edge, his cock lined up to fuck her while he stood. She felt the straining, thick head butting between her legs.

"I've imagined this..." he muttered, and shot her a questioning look.

She answered the unspoken question by wrapping her legs around his arse and nudging him inside. He was in no mood for gentleness, and he responded by grabbing her hips and thrusting up hard. She let out a startled squeak at the intrusion. His cock was larger than she had taken before, and she winced as her walls stretched to accommodate him. When she looked up, his eyes were closed, and his mouth hung slack, enjoying the sensation.

"God, you're tight." He sighed after a moment. "I'm moulding you to me."

He slid out. The friction felt unbearable, and her only thought was that he must, must keep moving.

She had nothing to worry about; he slammed into her with a grunt, pulled out, and slammed back in. He kept up this unyielding force, unyielding pace, all the while pinning her hips to the desk and using them as leverage. She could feel the fire curling between her legs, and let out a desperate mewl. He smirked, clearly pleased with the reaction he was eliciting.

His hand released her hip, and began mauling her left breast. Two fingers rubbed lightly over her hardened nipple. She arched her chest up into his hand, and with more confidence, he pinched it. From her throat ripped a desperate, strangled moan. He grunted and picked up his pace. He pinched her nipple hard, and a thrum of pain arced to her core. It sent her over the edge.

She let out a yowl as she came. Her body tensed, and she flailed violently against him. Her walls clamped tight around his cock, milking it. She had never felt anything as violent, as primal, in her previous sexual encounters, and she lost herself completely in a fit of pleasure.

It sent him over the edge. She heard him grunt loudly, like an animal, and grip her hips tight as he thrust one hard, final time deep within her. She felt his release, warm and wet, deep, flowing inside of her pussy. He collapsed atop her, panting heavily. When he looked up, his silver eyes were heavy-lidded with exhaustion.

For a moment, she worried. Would he now go back to calling her names, like the Malfoy from her childhood? Would he call her a whore, or a mudblood? Would he consider this an awful, terrible mistake?

"Granger," he finally said, and his lips quirked into a small smile. "You're an incredible fuck."

Though his words were crude, there was no vitriol to them; in fact, he sounded almost awed. She relaxed, knowing he would not turn on her.

"Malfoy." She smiled back. "You were pretty fucking incredible yourself."

With a regretful wince, he slipped out, leaving a wet trail across her thigh. He offered her his hand to help her up off the table. Her legs trembled. He noticed, because he glanced at them and smirked once again.

She laughed softly. "I didn't even get your shirt off."

"Well there's always next time," he said, then froze, realizing the implication of what he'd just said. "I mean... never mind."

She picked up her thong and slid it on, then began wriggling down her out-of-place bra and skirt. Malfoy slid his trousers back on, then picked up her blouse. He flipped out his wand, and Hermione wondered what he was doing.

"Accio Hermione's buttons." They flew into his hand, and pointed the wand at the blouse. "Reparo."

The buttons neatly stitched themselves back on, and he handed the blouse to her.

"Thank you," she whispered.

Oddly, she felt more exposed as he watched her dress than she had when they were fucking. There was nothing lascivious about his gaze, but he intently watched her fingers as she buttoned up her blouse.

"Are you okay to get home?" he asked.

She smiled as she slipped on one shoe that had fallen off during the encounter. "I walk home alone every day after work, Malfoy."

"I know, but it's different..." His cheeks pinkened, and he looked at the floor. "Anyhow, it's probably best if you're not seen with me. Especially... well, you look a bit rumpled."

She felt a pang. He didn't want to be seen with her. She moved to the door.

"'Bye Granger..." he called out. "It was... good seeing you again."

She nodded mutely, and walked out, leaving him alone in Percy's office.

Draco flopped into Percy's chair and rubbed his eyes. After a moment staring at the door, he reached for the whiskey bottle, and poured himself another.

* * *

**Author's Note Again: Hey, this is my first dirty story, so concrit is helpful. Alternatively, just post happy reviews - I like those too! :)**


	2. Chapter 2: In A Boardroom

**Author's Note: This chapter is no more modest than the last, but this time, there's no unseemly alcoholism. In other words, it's graphic and only for 18 and overs. Enjoy!**

* * *

The Ministry dinner had been on Friday, and Hermione had spent her weekend agonizing over her encounter with Malfoy. When she and Ginny had gone out for lunch on Saturday, Hermione had scanned the restaurant for him; when she had walked through Diagon Alley on Sunday, she'd scanned the street for a shock of blonde hair.

She hadn't seen him at all. And she knew that these obsessive thoughts were dangerous. She was setting herself up for hurt. It had been a one-night stand with a particularly poor choice of partner. Malfoy probably had already forgotten it, and seeing him again would simply be awkward and painful.

But on Monday, she kept thinking about him. In her three years at the Ministry, she had never actually gone down to the Policy division. She had seen Malfoy only fleetingly since leaving school. She'd never even realized he was a Ministry employee, for God's sake. But after sitting in her desk for two hours, her mind flashing back to their encounter on Percy's desk, she had to do _something_. Without even fully considering her plan, she left her office.

Imelda, Hermione's latest secretary, sat outside Hermione's office, reading a real estate magazine. The girl flushed and slapped the magazine shut at her boss's entrance. Hermione tried not to roll her eyes. The other two employees in the Magical Creatures Division all looked equally bored at their desks.

"Imelda, do we have any policy initiatives going on?"

"Um... not really, Miss Granger. Just a regulation we were hoping to pass through last year regarding the disturbance of unicorn mating grounds."

"It's September. Why hasn't it happened yet?"

"Well," Imelda flushed, knowing Hermione would not like the answer, "it's not the highest priority, according to Mr. Weasley, and he hasn't any policy advisers available to take the lead on the project..."

Hermione raised one eyebrow. She did not like that answer at all. And the fact that following up would take her to Malfoy's desk was just a happy coincidence.

"I'm going to have to follow up on this myself." Hermione pursed her lips and stalked out.

She walked down the corridor toward the elevators. Her face was pink, knowing that deep down, she didn't particularly care about the unicorn mating grounds regulation. And worse, she had no clue how Malfoy would even react once he saw her. God, she felt pathetic - and yet her feet kept propelling her further toward the elevators. She could barely mutter out _hello_ when people she knew passed her.

As she approached the elevator doors, they slid open. She stopped dead in her tracks as Malfoy stepped out.

He was clearly as startled to see her as she was to see him, but he recovered first.

"Miss Granger." He paused, and his eyes flickered down to the papers in his hands. She stepped closer, feeling awkward, and spotted the label on his papers _- Regulation Proposal: Unicorn Mating Grounds_.

"You came to see me," she said; it wasn't a question.

After a moment's hesitation, he nodded sharply. Her heart sang, even though she knew she was probably reading too much into it. But then his eyes caught hers. She saw his Adam's apple bob, the quirk of his head, the deepness of his gaze, and the way his breathing quickened. There was no denying his intent, and she suspected her desire was just as transparent to him.

"There's a free boardroom over here where we can discuss the draft regulation, Malfoy," she said, her voice just a tad too loud.

"Right," he muttered, his head swivelling around, checking to see if anyone was watching.

He followed her into the nearby boardroom. As soon as the door shut, his wand was out. A quick charm locked the door and snapped the blinds shut. Without a word, they were on each other, divesting each other's clothes, devouring each other's mouths, shoving each other toward the table.

She managed to unpeel his robe and undershirt before he pushed her down onto the tabletop. His hands skimmed over her satin top, searching for the fastenings.

"Where the hell..." he mumbled.

"On the back. A zip," she replied.

He grabbed her shoulders and rolled her over. She was too startled to resist, and found herself face-down on the table, feeling a rush of cold air as he slid the zipper down and yanked her dress down, first off her arms, then to pool on the ground. Her warm skin met the cold melamine tabletop, and she shivered. Malfoy's hands reached under the table and began to slide into her bra.

"You have great tits. They're just the most beautiful ones I think I've ever seen." He paused to yank down her satin thong. "And you wear fantastic lingerie."

He kept her folded over the table, her legs on the ground, her top half bent over and pressed onto the surface. One hand rubbed her spine, simultaneously keeping her down. His other hand reached around her waist for leverage. After a moment, she felt his hardness press up against her opening. There were no niceties, no soft kisses or romance. No, he simply gripped her body tight and thrust upward. She was wet, thinking about him throughout the morning, and he slid in easily.

He moved quickly, and thrust deeply. She could feel his desperation as his fingers desperately gripped at her hips and breasts. She couldn't see him, but she knew he had completely lost control. He could not form words, and only animalistic grunts spilt from his mouth. She could do little more, and, pinned against the desk by his cock, she could do nothing but take him.

Not that she wanted anything else. All day she had thought of their previous encounter, and it took only a few of his rough, deep thrusts before she came with an unrestrained, shrill cry.

He held each side of her as she flailed, and she felt him shudder as her muscles squeezed his still-deep cock. After she stilled, he began to move again, this time faster; it was only a minute or two before he grabbed her hips tightly, buried himself deep, and tensed. She felt the warmth spilt inside of her, and, as he slipped out, felt it run down her left leg.

It was dirty. It was carnal. It was completely, utterly sexual. But she didn't care. All of their clothing lay on the ground in a tangled heap. He had dripped his seed onto his white shirt.

As she tried to stand up, she groaned. Being pinned in such an awkward position had left her muscles tense and aching. Malfoy smirked and grabbed her arm to steady her.

"You got my shirt off this time," he said, his breathing still ragged.

"Mmm, so I did." She wriggled around a bit to loosen her muscles, still holding onto his firm arm. "You're fit."

He preened at the compliment. She let go, finally, to begin looking around the room. His eyes followed her as she searched for her knickers.

"Where were you off to when I ran into you, Granger? Have you missed some awfully important managerial meeting?"

She blushed. "I was actually going down to your office. Ostensibly, to ream out Perce for slacking off on the unicorn regulation."

"Ostensibly." He smirked. "No wonder your assistant called up Percy and warned him you were coming. He was about to run the regulation upstairs, but I volunteered to do it and make the necessary apologies."

She raised an eyebrow and paused while sliding into her dress. "And Percy agreed that _you_ were the best person to placate _me_?"

"I made a bet with him. If you call him up and complain, I owe him twenty galleons. If you're happy with my report, he owes me twenty galleons." He raised an eyebrow. "I suspected I might know a few ways to keep you... pleased."

She knew she should probably make some disapproving noises, but she couldn't help it, knowing how pompous Percy could be. A giggle escaped her mouth, and she handed him back the report.

She nodded, her face still flushed. "Well, you definitely deserve a glowing performance review."

His eyes raked over her body lasciviously. "I endeavour not to disappoint."

At that, he began to cast cleansing spells and to dress. He buttoned his collar, tucked in his trousers, and buckled his belt in amiable silence. Finally, he picked up the draft regulation. His expression turned serious. "If you don't mind that it's _me_ working on this regulation thing, I can have it to the Minister's office by the end of the week."

"Really?"

"I'm not a Slytherin for nothing." His lips curled into a smirk as he walked to the door. "I'll see you later."

And with that, he stalked out. Hermione stood, staring at the melamine tabletop for a moment, allowing the flush to leave her face and the scent of sex to dissipate. She purposely left a few minutes so there would be no suspicions; no sight of two flush-faced ministry employees scurrying out a boardroom.

When she returned to her office, she felt in a daze. A warm, marshmallow-muscled, intensely satiated daze.

"Did you see Mr. Malfoy?" Imelda asked, interrupting her thoughts.

"Hmm? Erm, yes, briefly." Hermione hoped her expression didn't betray her guilty conscience.

"Percy Weasley called. He would like an update." Imelda frowned. "Malfoy was supposed to bring you a draft regulation, but you're not even carrying it. I'll tell Mr. Weasley that he didn't bother..."

Hermione arched her brow and shot Imelda an icy glare. "Mr. Malfoy has everything under control. I was surprisingly pleased with his... attention to detail."

Imelda's jaw dropped. "So... you didn't have a row with him? Mr. Weasley said..."

"You can tell Percy that I'm very satisfied with Mr. Malfoy's performance." Hermione smiled sweetly. "Thank you, Imelda."

With that, she locked herself in her office. Half an hour later, she received an owl at her window. She didn't recognize the spidery writing until she cracked open the note.

_So glad you're "surprisingly pleased with my attention to detail" and "very satisfied with my performance." Percy has given me twenty galleons and the afternoon off. I'm spending it on liquor. If you want your rightful share, you can find me in the snug at the Black Kneazle. _

_Yours, _

_DLM _

She smiled briefly at the "yours" - as if in any way she belonged to him. The letter was set aside, and she told herself she had far too much work to do.

As the minutes ticked by, her resolve waned. She could not concentrate on editing briefing notes and regulations. Though she and Malfoy had been together only minutes before, she still wanted him. He had stoked some unquenchable thirst in her; a passion she had only thought existed in novels or films.

She would join him. How many nights had she spent here, working late into the evening? How many mornings had she arrived well before dawn? How many weekends had she worked straight through?

No, there was no reason to feel guilty about nipping out early. Though, she supposed, the guilt really arose from the fact that she was nipping out to shag Draco Malfoy. Except that she didn't feel guilty. Naughty, yes; excited, yes; but not guilty.

She idly wondered where her self-control, her logic, had gone. Though she knew this was a horrible idea, and the repercussions could be devastating, she dismissed the niggling concerns in the back of her mind.

After signing off on one last letter, she stood, grabbed her purse, and walked out.

"Imelda, I'm leaving early today."

Imelda stared at her as if she had three heads. The rest of her staff also gawked openly. As she walked down the corridor, she heard them muttering about a flu that had been going around.

She sighed with relief. At least she wouldn't have to lie about why she was going.

* * *

**Author's Note: Again, not much to say except I love comments, concrit and I love it when people follow & favourite my stories. I'm really humbled by the fabulous response I got to Chapter 1. **


	3. Chapter 3: The Black Kneazle

**Author's Warning: This is also a very slutty chapter, and they drink again. Out of an abundance of caution, there is a hint of dominant behaviour in the slutty scene. So... click back if you're under 18 or might be disturbed by That Sort of Thing. **

* * *

The Black Kneazle was a pub located directly on Knockturn Alley; Hermione had never been inside, and felt a thread of nervousness as she entered. Even at twelve thirty on a Monday, it was dark and full of shifty looking characters. Hermione had the good sense to wear a hooded cloak, knowing that the pub had a significant dark wizarding customer base. Nobody recognized her; nobody gave her a second look.

There were a couple of snugs in the back, the sort that old British pubs tended to have - perfect for plotting or trysting. The snugs had black curtains hanging over the doorways, hiding the patrons within. However, she knew which one to slip into. Malfoy had left a calling card - his father's snake-headed cane lying next to the door. Since Lucius was firmly ensconced in Azkaban, she figured it could only be Draco inside.

She slipped through the door and found him inside with a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. He too had worn a hooded cloak, and had kept it up over his cornsilk hair. She slid into the bench across from him. He shot a locking spell on the door.

"Keep your hood up, in case someone peeps in," he murmured. "I'm surprised you came, Granger. No pun intended."

"So am I, on some level."

"What do you want to drink? It's on me." She caught the smirk under his hood. "Percy was so irritated when he handed over the galleons. It was beautiful, even you might've enjoyed it."

"I'm sure I would've enjoyed it. Perce can be a prat." She examined the label on the whiskey. "This'll do, I suppose. I'm really not a liquor drinker, but this place doesn't seem appropriate for wine."

He let out a sharp bark of laughter. "No. That bottle's better quality than the stuff in Percy's desk, though."

He topped up the empty glass and slid it across to her. Both of them sipped in comfortable silence for a moment.

"This is bizarre," she blurted out.

At his silence, she flushed. She was suddenly thankful for the protection of her hood.

"You have to agree, don't you, Malfoy?" She frowned at him. "Or perhaps you make one night stands with muggleborns a habit?"

He sniffed disdainfully. "Obviously not."

"You didn't try to seduce me to get some kind of influence..." she began.

"Oh, please, Granger. You were quite the willing participant."

"I know that, Malfoy! I just..." She sighed.

"I don't have one night stands, Granger." His voice changed, sounding genuinely curious. "Do you?"

"No! I... I never really thought of myself as that sort of girl. A girl who can just shag someone once and leave."

He snorted. "And I suppose you're not, since you came back for seconds only three days later. And I hope you're here for thirds."

"See, that's what I don't understand, Malfoy. You hate my kind. You hate us. You've always hated me. And yet, this..." She swallowed. "You can't tell me that this is normal, Malfoy. We're practically flammable together."

He was silent for a moment, then sighed. "I can't say I've had some great change of heart, Granger. I haven't. I still dislike mudbloods."

She tensed, and he reached out and touched her wrist with two slender fingers. Even that tiny touch, his warm fingers on her pulse point, set a delicious shiver through her body. Her anger at his words warred with her lust toward him.

"I'm being honest with you, Granger," he murmured, "pleasant or not. But dispite my dislike of your kind, you're right. I thought you would be an amusing diversion for the night, and I found you physically attractive. I didn't expect you to be so..." He seemed to be searching for the right word. "Flammable."

She sensed that he felt as conflicted as she, and she felt a flicker of sympathy for him. "Perhaps we'll burn ourselves out."

He shrugged. "Perhaps. But until then... I don't see any reason why we should deny ourselves."

She was certain that this was a bad idea. He hated mudbloods. Their coupling was wholly sexual, based only on overwhelming chemistry and nothing else. They had always found one another intolerable; the ultimate result would surely leave one or both of them hurt. Their friends and families would he horrified. Their jobs might even be at stake.

"We won't tell anyone."

"Of course not. Both of us have too much at risk." He knocked back his glass of whiskey. "Can we stop talking about this? Come on, Granger... start drinking. You worry too much. You never just do things for the hell of it."

He was right, and she nodded mutely. As the two of them sipped at the whiskey, they launched into competing stories about their co-workers' stupidity. And her earlier niggling fears melted away, leaving only a pleasant buzz from alcohol and from Malfoy's conversation.

Suddenly, when the bottle was three-quarters gone, he leaned across the table and kissed her. She let out a startled squeak as his tongue prodded at her closed lips. After a second, she parted them, and he probed inside, sliding inside. His arm reached out, groping at her breast.

It was awkward; there was, after all, a table between them. They were in a pub. She pulled back. He looked hurt.

"Malfoy, do you intend to shag me in the snug at a Knockturn Alley pub?"

"It seemed better than not shagging you," he mumbled. "There's a curtain."

"I'm not shagging you here." She pursed her lips. "Anyone could look in! And everyone will definitely hear."

He frowned. She recognized it as disappointment, but thankfully, he didn't beg or whine pathetically like Ron tended to. He just nodded sharply and sat back.

"I didn't say I wouldn't shag you at all, Malfoy." Her voice had a mischievous lilt, and his eyes lifted up hopefully. "Just not here."

It took him a moment to recover.

"Where?" he asked urgently.

She swallowed, and wondered if he would be upset at her next suggestion. "My flat's around the corner."

He was silent. When he looked up, she feared she would see distaste reflected in his eyes - it was a muggle flat, after all - but instead, she saw a dark lust, mixed with curiosity. Her breaths quickened as their eyes met. His fingers wrapped around her knuckles, and he tugged gently on her hand, prompting her to move.

His voice was ragged when he finally spoke. "Now."

He needed to say nothing more. They drained their glasses, stood, and hurried out of the pub together.

* * *

Once in the flat, he slammed the door shut and locked it. She had expected him to immediately start stripping her, but he did not. He stepped inside tentatively, his silver eyes scanning the sitting room-cum-kitchen. It was a very mugglish flat, all things considered. She wondered what he thought of the espresso machine on the counter, or the toaster oven, or the flatscreen television hanging on the wall, all charmed to work with magic. But he made no comment, just looked at each object with abject curiosity. His eyes fell onto the hooks on the kitchen wall, where two mugs hung. They moved onto the chalkboard, where Hermione had written - _good luck on your interview! _

"You live with someone." His voice was flat. "Weasley?"

"Yes." At his stormy expression, she clarified. "Ginny. Ron moved out after... well, you know."

He seemed to relax at that, and muttered, "So the Weaselette could walk in at any moment."

"No, she's rarely here. She only keeps this room for show. She spends most nights with Harry, but her parents would never tolerate their only daughter living in sin, so she pays me for the second bedroom."

Hermione kicked off her shoes and wandered in. "My room's to the right. That one there with the sparkly pink G is obviously Gin's, and that third door's the toilet, if you need to freshen up."

He walked into the lav, and she went to the cupboard.

"You want another drink?" she called, trying to be heard over the running water.

She got no answer, so she poured the red wine into two glasses and set both of them down on the coffee table. A moment later, Malfoy reappeared. He nodded briefly in thanks, and settled into the sofa next to her. He lifted the glass to his lips, and drank deeply. The silence felt like a taut elastic band, a moment of loaded, awkward politeness as each sipped their wine.

She reached over to touch his thigh. And then, that feigned civility was gone. The wine was carelessly set aside. His hands skimmed over her body. He slipped one hand between her legs, pulling aside her knickers and touching between her lips with one finger.

"You're wet again, Granger." He laughed gutterally. "I've never met a witch so constantly ready to go. You're wasting this, working in some dusty office."

She frowned. "Nobody else has had this effect on me, much as I hate to admit it."

He grinned, evidently preening at that fact. But, thinking back to their earlier coupling, thinking back him pounding into her on the boardroom table, she felt desperation arc through her. She involuntarily licked her lips. His nostrils flared. She placed her hands on his chest and pushed him to lie back on the sofa. Her hands scrabbled at his buttons, while his slid her satiny top down over her shoulders to reveal her balconet.

"Again, where do you find this lingerie?" He smoothed his hands over the top of her breasts, nearly spilling from their satin prison. "Keep this on. I like it."

She straddled his waist and held down his wrists, but he twisted his hands around and caught her wrists in his. He sat up suddenly so she sat on him, face to face, then before she had the chance to react, pushed _her _back onto the sofa. His hands pinned her wrists, placing her in the same position she'd held him a moment earlier.

She looked up at him. He smirked.

"I like being in control."

"Hmm, I'd never have guessed," she replied.

"Don't pretend you don't enjoy it," he muttered.

He collapsed his weight onto her, so his chest crushed hers. With his free hands, he hiked her skirt up to her waist and yanked her knickers to her knees. He didn't bother taking off his trousers, just released his straining hardness by unbuttoning his trousers. She felt it press against her lips and fully expected him to sink in. But instead, he taunted her, pressing inside just a fraction of an inch, then pulling out. Her hands dug into his arse and tried to force him in.

"Ah, I don't think so, Granger."

He grabbed her wrists and pinned them up above her head. It didn't hurt, and it wasn't uncomfortable, but she swore at his presumption. She twisted her arms, trying to free them, and he smirked.

"I'll let you out when you behave," he whispered. "You love it, Granger. You love not being able to do anything except let me fuck you, admit it."

His crude language sent a shot of wetness through her core, and she sighed in pleasure. His cock still teased her, sitting right at her entrance, and no matter how she writhed or tried to impale herself, he would not let her. She felt as if she were burning up. The rough fabric of his trousers scraped against the exposed skin on her thighs; the smell of his sweat and cologne overwhelmed her.

"Please," she whispered.

"Please what?" He stared down at her, smirking openly at her desperation.

"Please... please, Malfoy, fuck me."

He rewarded her by sharply embedding himself to the hilt. She sucked in her breath and let out a cry at the exquisitely painful pleasure.

"I love it," he hissed in her ear.

He dragged himself out slowly, raggedly. When she began to whimper at the feeling of need, he sharply thrust again. His movements were agonizingly slow, and she knew he was trying to torture her with slow-burning desire. She began to writhe under him, trying without success to move faster against him. Her words devolved into low moans. Eventually, she gave up the struggle against his restraining hands, gave up trying to make him move faster, and just let him slide slowly into her, use her, as he pleased.

On some level, she wondered if this was wrong; the pure, unrestrained pleasure she felt at being utterly at the mercy of his sexual wants.

And, once he saw her give up any resistance, it seemed to send him over the edge. His thrusts became hard and ragged. His breathing became shallow. His thrusts sped up, and his hands pinned her wrists atop the magical restraint.

"God, you're the perfect fuck. Take my cock, take it." It was almost a chant.

He leaned back, and hit a new, pleasurable spot deep within her. His quick, deep pistoning, combined with his words, sent her over the edge. She came with a long, high pitched cry. Her hands twisted against his. Her muscles clamped hard onto his cock.

And, simultaneously, it sent him over as well. He grabbed the sofa's armrest and used it as leverage to thrust one last, hard time. She felt him swell, and freeze deep within her. And then, she felt filled with his warm seed. He collapsed, all sticky limbs, atop her. He left his cock buried deep within her even as he softened.

Neither made a move for a long minute. Malfoy was the first, but only to touch her wrists gently.

"Sorry," he muttered, "I shouldn't have held you down without asking. I... was caught up in the moment."

"Don't apologize," she replied. "I liked it."

He stared down at her incredulously. Slowly, with one finger, he brushed a stray curl from her face. Without saying anything more, he collapsed atop her, and they both fell asleep.

When she awoke two hours later, a blanket had been tucked around her. The apartment had grown dark. And Malfoy was gone.

* * *

**Author's Note: Thank you to all who have reviewed and favourited and followed. Also, HAPPY CANADA DAY to my fellow Canadians!  
**


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